


Day 1: So It Begins

by alivingfire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8127040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivingfire/pseuds/alivingfire
Summary: “I think… that you want to do this thirty day thing, but you don’t want to say we have a problem, and I understand that,” Louis said, taking another step forward. “I also think… that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how good you felt last night.”

  The last one was like Louis wrapping a livewire around Harry’s wrists; sudden and shocking, leaving him breathless. 
  “I think that you are the most beautiful man in the world, and that a month of sex with you will be the easiest challenge I’ve ever set for myself.”
  These were strange butterflies that had taken up a place in Harry’s insides; not first date nerves or first time jitters, not any of the myriad of little excitations and anxieties he'd felt with Louis over the years. Somehow, here, this ordinary autumn day, was something brand new after years of familiarity.
  “I’ve been thinking,” Louis said, so close they were touching, so close Harry could feel the words against his throat, “that I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you since I left the bed this morning.”
Harry panics, Louis gets what he wants, and the 30 Day Challenge begins.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Art in this chapter by the wonderful [twopoppies](http://twopoppies.tumblr.com/)!

A loud, rhythmic blaring erupted next to Harry’s ear, and his eyes flew open.

It wasn’t the dark middle of the night, a little hand tapping at his face to wake him. It wasn’t the staticky sound of a baby monitor, loud with unhappy toddler noises. It wasn’t even the weight of a chubby cat across his knees, or a dog’s nails clicking against the wood floors as he paced and waited to be let out.

It was his alarm. Holy hell, he _actually_ got to sleep until his alarm went off, and it was so unfamiliar a sensation he almost forgot what to do.

Light fell through the bedroom window and across the sheets, painting the cloth warm yellow. Harry yawned wide, stretched his legs, pointed his toes, feeling loose and rested and _wonderful_ even as the terrible blaring from his phone alarm continued in the background. He couldn’t remember the last time George slept through the night, or that Isabelle hadn’t stumbled into their room sometime around two a.m. clutching her favorite blanket, rubbing at her eyes and saying she couldn’t sleep from nightmares or tummy aches or because she just _had_ to talk to her dad about the state of the Rovers lately. (Louis took her opinions very seriously, lots of head-nodding and sounds of encouragement going on in those conversations. Harry tended to stay out of it—sometimes he offered his thoughts on the matter and Izzy leveled him with a look that was so _Louis_ , all unimpressed eyebrows and an air of _are you quite finished?_ that Harry had to leave the room before he burst into laughter.)

He reached over and switched off his alarm, the silence itself ringing in aftermath. As Harry moved he felt achey, but in a pleasant way, the kind of muscle soreness that only really came from-

It all rushed back, hazy wine memories solidifying into something more substantial: that _damn_ Cosmo article haunting him like an annoying ghost, his worry that his and Louis’ love life had gone stale, Louis’ reassurances that it hadn’t, a resolution; in fact, a resolution that would start this very day. Thirty straight days of sex—just the _thought_ of it made him shiver. And then a tumble across the sheets like they hadn’t done in _months_ _,_ quiet laughter and moans in equal measure, easier than falling in love (which, Harry remembered, had been very easy indeed). They’d went twice, even, the first round quick and intense, the second slow, sweet; why, that was even more unheard of than unplanned sex.

And it definitely explained the twinge in Harry’s bum.

He grinned, leaning back against their pillows. The morning, already autumn sweet and warm like cinnamon cider, seemed a thousand times brighter when paired with his memories from the night before. Harry stretched out his arms, the muscles pulling until they went loose, and then his hand hit something unexpected. He looked over to see a small, crumpled note left on Louis’ pillow.

_H,_

_Iz was up and wanted to take Zuko on a walk, and you looked like you needed the rest. Wore you out, did I?_

_We’ll grab breakfast from the place on the corner on our way back._

\- _L_

The bottom of the note had a winky face, and then a little crude sketch of what was apparently Louis’ perspective on last night’s events. Harry covered his eyes for a moment and chuckled, fighting the rush of heat Louis’ drawing sent through him, but eventually the blush died down and Harry swung his legs out of bed, bare feet against the cold floor.

The room was a mess, covered in discarded pyjamas and far-flung boxers, their bottle of lube rolled halfway under the bed, the sheets in absolute disarray. Harry scavenged up some new pants, tossing a dressing gown on top, and made his slow way downstairs.

“Good morning, Papa!” Izzy welcomed him as he stepped inside the kitchen. She had little smudges of chocolate around her mouth, but otherwise was about as pristine as one could expect a four-year-old to be. Her tawny hair was piled up on top of her head, an Auntie Lottie style that she'd drilled into Louis’ head by making him practice over and over under her supervision. Her hair was from Lottie and the breakfast-tinged grin on her face was all Louis, but she dressed just like her papa—worn jeans and sparkly boots and a little miniature top made of soft, cool material.

“Pa!” Georgie exclaimed, his older sister’s shadow in almost every way. They matched in their hair and eyes and dimpled grins, but Georgie was a little more low maintenance: he was like his dad, cosy jumpers and trousers that they could easily wash grass stains out of. His little toddling legs didn't quite allow for keeping up with his sister and Louis when they went scampering off together, but he tried his damnedest anyway and enjoyed every second of it.

“Yes, good morning,” Louis said from the refrigerator, out of which he emerged holding a carton of juice. His greeting was much less innocent than those of their children, his gaze raking from the low-slung tie of Harry’s gown to the hot spot on his neck where he just _knew_ Louis had left a bruise last night. This time Harry couldn’t stop the wave that rolled through him, making his cheeks warm and his knees weak.

Harry breathed in, steadying himself; he kissed Izzy’s forehead and then Georgie’s and then he pulled Louis close for a slow, easy kiss all his own. “Good morning,” Harry murmured back, just to see the way Louis swallowed at the sleepy rasp in his voice.

“I, um,” Louis stammered, and Harry grinned and stepped back, giving his husband some space to think. “I’m going to call,” he shot a glance over at Isabelle, who was watching their every move, and Georgie, who was watching Izzy watch them, “N-i-a-l-l to see if he can,” a second glance towards the kids, “b-a-b-y-s-i-t today.”

“For what?” Harry asked, meandering to the open box from the little bakery down the street, rummaging inside for one of the poppyseed muffins Louis knew he loved.

Louis cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows meaningfully when Harry looked his way.

“Oh!” The sex thing. God, he’d almost forgot. “Right. When?”

“I was thinking soon,” Louis said, all feigned nonchalance. Harry looked up from his muffin; Louis’ eyes were practically glittering with promise.

At the table, Izzy was staring down at the table in concentration, tracing her little finger against the wood. “N… i… a… l… Niall!” she shouted gleefully. Louis and Harry both jumped, exchanging bemused looks. “Uncle Niall! When is he coming, is he coming now? Is he bringing presents? Are we going somewhere? Are _you_ going somewhere?”

“You, my darling,” Louis said, crouching next to Izzy’s chair and interrupting her flood of questions, “are far too smart for your own good.”

“Nonsense,” she said, sounding exactly like Harry as she did so, and Harry swooped in to kiss her cheek.

“You tell him, Iz,” Harry grinned. “You’re going to rule the world.”

Georgie yelled, “Me too!” and banged his fists, sending little bits of cereal flying.

“Yes, Georgie boy, you too,” Harry said seriously, as Louis laughed himself nearly into hysterics behind them.  

Later, Louis went off to call Niall as Harry cleaned up the breakfast mess. Izzy buried herself in a coloring book at the table and Georgie followed Harry around the kitchen, watching and mimicking as Harry wiped away crumbs and empty boxes. When Louis reentered the kitchen, slipping his phone into his pocket, he sent Harry a discreet thumbs up.

The doorbell rang about twenty minutes later, and Izzy, who had forgotten entirely that her Uncle Niall would be by, immediately perked up. She disregarded Louis’ admonishment to not open the door to strangers and shot from the room, trailing scattered markers and paper behind her glittered footsteps.

“... and Daddy did _fifty_ keepy-uppies, can you believe it? I counted all of them,” Izzy was chattering when she reappeared in the kitchen, tugging a bemused Niall by the hand behind her. “And this morning we had chocolate for breakfast. Chocolate! But Daddy said not to tell Papa.”

“And you did very well at that, love,” Louis said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Whoops,” Izzy giggled, swinging Niall’s hand.

“Yes, well,” Louis said, badly hiding his smile and bouncing Georgie a little on his hip. “Iz, why don’t you and I run upstairs to grab your bags?”  

Izzy was still talking about her breakfast when she and Louis and George disappeared around the corner and up the stairs, their voices quietly fading away. Harry, who would never ever tell a soul this, was starting to feel a little thrum of excitement for the day ahead. He and Louis tried not to abuse their friends’ and families’ generosity too often and take advantage of the always offered free babysitting, so it had been a long time since he and Louis truly had the place to themselves. Niall’s house was only a short walk away—so if something happened, they could be there in minutes—but there was something about today, an empty Saturday stretching before them and the promise of no little ears or eyes catching them doing anything, that made Harry's blood go warm.

“So,” Niall said. “What’re you ‘nd Lou up to? Anything dirty?”

Harry couldn’t help it; he froze.

“No,” he blustered, but the moment the word left his mouth he knew he should have underplayed it; from the corner of his eye he could see Niall’s eyebrows fly upward, his grin grow into a smirk.

“Oh my god, that’s what’s actually happening,” Niall laughed, a loud, unabashed cackle. “You foist the kids off on me for a Saturday afternoon so you and the husband can make some sweet, sweet lovin’.”

“That…” Harry tried to side-step it, but he was caught off guard and Niall would never believe him anyway. His face flamed red and he muttered, “Alright, yeah. That’s what’s happening.” At Niall’s next bark of laughter, Harry groaned, “Shut up.”

Niall, who looked like Christmas had come early and told him that it was about to have sex with Easter, seemed partly horrified and mostly amused at Harry’s confession. “Hey, man, whatever you two gotta do. Keep the love alive, you know?”

“Shut _up,”_ Harry repeated. “I will pay you to shut up.”

“Please. Like I haven’t seen you and Louis in various states of undress multiple times over the years,” Niall scoffed. “Nothing you could say or do could shock me anymore.”

Which was… probably true. Still, some things should stay between a man and his husband, not a man, his husband, and their mutual, eternal-bachelor of a best friend, so Harry reached over and jabbed a finger at Niall to get him to be quiet. Niall danced out of his reach, chuckling.

“Not gonna lie,” Niall said, still dodging Harry’s attacks, “I’d’ve thought you two had some perfect system worked out by now. Some foolproof way to still get laid even with the kids in the house.” Another athletic dodge, this time jumping out of the way of a pillow Harry hurled at him. “I mean, it’s not like you stopped having sex. I wouldn’t believe you even if you said you had.”

Harry stopped trying to mildly assault Niall for a moment and straightened up, a second pillow dangling from his hand. Niall, bright-eyed from the fun game, tilted his head a little.

“What, did I say something wrong?”

Luckily, Louis, George, and Isabelle chose that moment to reappear, Izzy leading the way by clomping down the stairs. Harry tossed the pillow aside and moved to help Izzy into her jacket and her backpack, brushing her baby hairs off her forehead.

“Be good for Uncle Niall, okay?” he said sternly. Izzy nodded, eyes serious, and turned to take Niall’s hand once more for the walk to his place. Louis settled Georgie into the stroller, the toddler’s eyes already closing at the threat of a walk, which always knocked him out when he was fussy or unable to sleep.

“So, I’m not sure of the protocol here,” Niall said as he led the group to the front door. “Do I… call? Do we set a time and hope you two are finished by then?”

“Finished what?” Izzy asked.

“Nothing, darling,” Louis said, sending Harry a narrow-eyed _I know I didn’t tell Niall so why does Niall know_ look to Harry over her head.

“Just call when you’re ready, Niall,” Harry said, ignoring Niall’s wide grin, Izzy’s rumpled look of confusion, and the threat in Louis’ eyes.

“No rush,” Niall said, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Take _aaaall_ the time you need.” And then, because that wasn’t obvious enough, he waited until Izzy stepped outside and leaned forward, winking. “Happy humping.”

It was quiet as the door closed behind Niall, the house seeming large and empty without the sounds of the kids playing, or the TV on, or food cooking in the kitchen. The dog was out in the backyard, the cat probably hiding from Izzy after she tried to put him in a doll dress yesterday. It was so silent the tick of the clock on the wall echoed like a pin drop, small but immense in the stillness.

The pop of a hand to the back of Harry’s hand broke the silence.

“Ow!”

“You told Niall?!”

“He got it out of me!”

“How? By asking, ‘Hey Harry, are you two going to have sex when I take your kids for the day?’”

“Well…”

“Oh my god,” Louis laughed, his faux outrage cracking so that the glimmer of amusement showed through. Then, “So,” he asked, “shall we-”

“I’m not finished in the kitchen,” Harry interrupted. Louis blinked in surprise at the outburst, but nodded slowly.

“O..kay. Well. Do you need any help?”

“No, no,” Harry reassured him, edging away from the door. “You just go ahead and find something on TV for a bit, I’ll- I’ll be right in.”

“Sure,” Louis said, though he shot Harry another weird look as he left.

Harry made his way into the kitchen and picked his flannel back up from where he’d left it on the worktop, continuing to scrub at the polished surface. It didn’t really matter that there wasn’t actually anything there to clean; between him and Louis they kept a pretty tidy place, and since there was no actual cooking this morning the room was mostly pristine. Still, Harry tossed the damp flannel over the edge of the sink and reached for the broom as well, just in case.

He felt a little silly, to be perfectly honest. The _Cosmo_ article had seemed like a perfectly valid threat last night, after a glass of wine and a stressful day with the kids. It was easy to cook up things to be worried about when he and Louis weren’t together, or after a few consecutive stressful weeks. But that didn’t mean things were _actually_ wrong. They’d even had sex last night, _twice,_ and hadn’t needed any special little challenges to make that happen.

Really, it was Niall’s reaction that was stuck running through Harry’s head. He swept and swept and couldn’t get the image of Niall’s face out of his mind, that incredulous eyebrow raise at the idea of Louis and Harry having trouble finding time to have sex.

And, well, it _was_ a little farfetched, or at least Harry could see how Niall would think so. Back before the kids, back when they used to go out with the boys almost every single night, Harry and Louis were the type to hook up in a restaurant bathroom or in the alley behind a bar and then return to their group all sweaty and loose-limbed, completely unbothered by their friends’ banter about Harry’s shirt unbuttoned the wrong way or a stain on Louis’ jeans. To think that that couple, the two who couldn’t keep their hands off each other at all back then, were having to set aside time specifically to have sex now, it just seemed-

Well, silly.

Before Harry realised it, his thinking and absent cleaning had taken him from the kitchen to the dining room to the foyer, sweeping determinedly at every little speck of dirt on their floor. He could hear Louis in the living room, football highlights on TV, and changed direction; he dumped his dustpan full of dirt and food debris and wandered upstairs. He tidied Georgie’s room, tossing a couple of stuffed animals back into his toy chest. Izzy’s room took a little more work, but he made her bed and gathered her discarded outfit choices and rearranged the off-kilter picture frames on top of her dresser. With that accomplished he gathered up his and Louis’ trail of clothing from the night before and dropped it into the hamper, stowed their lube back in his drawer, made their bed.

He started a load of laundry.

Cleaned the upstairs toilet.

Refolded the towels in the downstairs bathroom.

“So, are we going to talk about why you’re avoiding me?” Louis asked in the doorway between the family room and the kitchen, leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed. Harry, startled, jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped the damp flannel he’d been using to scrub at the kitchen worktop.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Harry said, brow furrowed.

“You’ve already cleaned the kitchen,” Louis said. He didn’t sound accusatory, just stated it like a fact. Which, Harry could agree, it was. “Twice.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Do you not want to do this anymore?”

Harry dropped the flannel again, this time on purpose. “Why? Do _you_ not want to?”

“Do I not want to have daily scheduled sex with my husband, is that what you’re asking me?” Louis asked. “No, Harry, I can honestly say I want that very much.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“And yet,” Louis said, stepping fully into the kitchen, “you’ve chosen to do an entire month’s worth of cleaning in one day. When the kids are gone. And which we specifically set aside to have sex.”

“Not on purpose,” Harry said weakly, but Louis levelled a look at him that was Izzy to a T, unimpressed and a little embarrassed on Harry’s behalf for even trying. “I just… don’t know if it’s necessary.”

“This was your idea,” Louis pointed out.

“I know, but-”

“I told you our sex life was fine.”

“Yes, I remember-”

“So you _have_ changed your mind.”

“No, I haven’t,” Harry said. “But I think I might’ve been panicking, just a little. That article just, I don’t know. It got to me.”

Louis let that settle without answering for a moment. Harry’s heart was pounding a funny rhythm; his hands were sweating against the worktop.

“You know what I think?” Louis finally said, moving a little closer to Harry.

“What?”

“I think… that you want to do this thirty day thing, but you don’t want to say we have a problem, and I understand that,” Louis said, taking another step forward. “I think that those articles are usually written by bored housewives who don’t realise their husbands are cheating on them and that’s why their sex lives suck. I think that we aren’t anything like that, we just have two energetic kids who keep us on our toes and we have very demanding jobs to use up the rest of our attention.” Another step forward. Close enough now that Harry could smell his subtle scent, fresh mint and washing powder and his hair product. “I think… that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how good you felt last night.”

The last one was like Louis wrapping a livewire around Harry’s wrists; sudden and shocking, leaving him breathless.

“I think that you are the most beautiful man in the world, and that a month of sex with you will be the easiest challenge I’ve ever set for myself.”

These were strange butterflies that had taken up a place in Harry’s insides; not first date nerves or first time jitters, not any of the myriad of little excitations and anxieties he'd felt with Louis over the years. Somehow, here, this ordinary autumn day, was something brand new after years of familiarity.

“I’ve been thinking,” Louis said, so close they were touching, so close Harry could _feel_ the words against his throat, “that I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you since I left the bed this morning.”

_“Fuck,”_ Harry breathed. That was nothing, because Louis had the filthiest mouth on him when he wanted to get Harry’s head spinning, but the casual heat in his words made Harry’s limbs buzz with a cocktail of adrenaline and excitement.

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s- that’s a _hell yes,_ and a _now_ as well,” Harry stammered; his mouth was dry, but he wasn't thirsty for wine or water or anything else. Not with the oasis of Louis standing in front of him, begging him to take a sip.

Louis grinned, dark and sharp, a contrast to the soft morning around them. “Good.”

He slid their mouths together, slow and inescapable, and Harry was destroyed in an instant. He melted against Louis’ front, his hands twisting themselves in the front of Louis’ shirt. Louis let him pull him closer, until Harry’s hand was pressed between their chests, until he could slot a thigh between Harry’s knees, until his every heartbeat echoed back to Harry like a thunderclap.

_“Jesus,”_ Harry gasped when Louis pulled away to let him have some air, some time later. They hadn’t kissed like that in, fuck, _ages._ The all-consuming type, the type that made Harry forget a world existed outside of Louis’ lips. The dark chocolate of kisses, smooth and luscious and addictive.

Louis didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips to Harry’s pulse point instead, sucking a kiss there. Then another on the curve where Harry’s neck met his shoulder. One more on Harry’s collarbone.

“This is… ridiculous,” Harry breathed.

Louis made a questioning noise, but didn’t pull his mouth away from the sensitive edge of Harry’s ear where he trailed a line of kisses. Harry squirmed, needy, and the motion sent his and Louis’ hips brushing against each other. The jolt of arousal was almost too much, his knees going weak.

_“I’m_ being ridiculous,” Harry continued, still mostly to himself, this time a bit of a moan sneaking into his voice.

Louis leaned away from the tingling skin behind Harry’s ear and met Harry’s eyes, a bit of a grin appearing at the corner of his mouth. “What’s ridiculous?”

Harry tried to answer, but the words almost got stuck when Louis’ hands started wandering under his shirt, tracing ticklish soft circles on his skin. “We’re literally married, we’ve done this a thousand times, I shouldn’t feel so-”

Louis’ soft caresses turned to scratches, stinging lines of heat across Harry’s skin, and Harry’s words faltered on a moan. Louis’ hands kept moving, up Harry’s back to his shoulder blades, leaving dancing lines behind his fingernails as he moved across the expanse of Harry’ bare skin. Harry’s words died in his mouth; at this point, even the butterflies in his stomach were turned on.

“Shouldn’t feel so what?”

Harry’s brain was working half-time, a beat behind the rest of him, and so he had to ask, “What?”

Louis nipped at Harry’s neck. “You said we’re literally married, you shouldn’t feel so…”

“Helpless,” Harry whispered.

Louis took a beat, pressed another kiss to Harry’s throat, then backed him up against the refrigerator.

“Helpless,” Louis repeated, his chest pressed to Harry’s, his breath tickling the hair around Harry’s ear. His thigh slid slowly between Harry’s once more, this time with more intent; that seemed to be the theme of the day, slow, weighted movements that made Harry’s head swim. “Hmm,” he said, like he was mulling the word over. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Harry gasped and Louis sealed his mouth to the arch of his neck, biting a bruise and moving on to leave more. Hot spots of tingling pain blossomed along Harry’s skin, and his hands found themselves scrabbling uselessly against the cool metal of the fridge door. He knocked a magnet off the door, then another; the kids' artwork fluttered nearly-silently to the floor. He was boneless to Louis’ mouth, his teeth, the flicker of his tongue.

“No one’s home,” Louis reminded him, leaning back for a second to take Harry in. He thumbed at Harry’s lip, pulling it from where it was caught hard between his teeth, keeping all his noises inside. “Be loud, baby. Let me hear you.”

Louis was always the loud one, but Harry could hold his own. He whimpered as Louis unbuttoned the front of his shirt and swirled his tongue around a nipple, whined when Louis twisted his hand in Harry’s curls and tugged his head sideways to get a better angle on his throat. He finally moaned outright when Louis cupped him through his jeans, the sure pressure of his palm like a blast of arousal straight up Harry’s spine.

“Here, or on the sofa?” Louis asked, urgency bleeding into his voice. Harry didn’t have an answer, so Louis decided for him. “Here it is. God, Haz, can’t wait any longer. Need you in my mouth, _now.”_

_Good,_ Harry thought, but couldn’t say the word because he was suddenly preoccupied: Louis fumbled for Harry’s zipper with one hand and with the other, grabbed Harry’s chin and pulled him down in another rough, smoldering kiss.

Harry’s belt fell with a _thunk_ and Louis rolled his tongue against Harry’s, a sweet slide, heat licking through Harry’s veins just like Louis’ teeth sliding against Harry’s bottom lip. The tight cling of Harry’s jeans disappeared as Louis got them unbuttoned and shoved them to the floor, and his free hand fingered over the nipple he’d played with earlier. Harry’s pants disappeared next and Louis disconnected their mouths with a sharp breath.

He looked like how Harry felt: _wrecked,_ disheveled and on edge and so desperately needy with it that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, but damn if he _did_ know what to do with Harry.

“Can you stand?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, though he wasn’t actually sure. He slid a little but Louis’ hand to his chest kept him upright. His unbuttoned shirt had fallen to the joint of his elbows, his pants and jeans in a heap around his ankles.

Louis kissed him once more, a parting gift, then dropped easily to his knees. This was something he’d done a thousand different times before in a thousand different ways: when they snuck into the loo at a restaurant, Louis could keep it quick and precise and have Harry finished in mere minutes. When it was in a cleaning cupboard at Louis’ office, he could work in perfect silence and keep Harry from making any noise too, fingers pressed into Harry’s mouth to keep it occupied. In the backseat of a car, he could have Harry writhing like they were in the middle of a luxurious bed, paying no heed to the way their sweaty skin slid against leather interior or fogged glass.

When he had Harry like this, exactly where he wanted him with endless time stretching in front of them, Louis was an artist, wringing a symphony out of Harry and ruining him with perfect touches.

Louis tilted his head and looked Harry up and down, his gaze jumping from bruise to tattoo to wet spot from his own mouth to the bullseye right in front of his eyes, and Harry felt it all like a physical touch. Harry’s cock bobbed with another surge of heat, his hands pawing uselessly against the fridge, and Louis leaned in and took just the head of Harry’s cock in his mouth.

_“Fuck,”_ Harry breathed, and it wasn’t enough but it was still so good, Louis’ lips soft around him, just enough pressure to drive him wild. Louis’ tongue traced around the head of Harry’s cock, lingering on that spot over the vein that made Harry’s vision waver and his thighs shake, and then just when Harry thought he couldn’t take the teasing any longer Louis slowly slid further down, hot wet heat enveloping Harry’s cock inch by slow, sweet inch.

“Lou,” Harry moaned, his hand finding its way into Louis’ hair, and Louis made a soft noise of encouragement.

Louis slid back, back so that just the head was in his mouth again, then forward again, tongue following the vein. He started a slow, aching rhythm, and Harry’s hips twitched with each tiny scrape of teeth, each extra little flick of tongue.

“Not gonna last,” Harry mumbled, and Louis made another sound like he already knew that, and slowed his rhythm even further. “Lou, _fuck,_ don’t tease, baby, I need-”

But Louis knew what he needed, could read him better than a book: the pulsing rhythm, even slowed, had his blood beating along with it, roaring like a wildfire. Louis kept up his steady pace, his mouth tighter around Harry’s cock, back and forth, back and forth, the flames twirling up Harry’s spine.

It was so much, _too_ much, and Harry never wanted it to end.

Harry could hear his own noises spilling out into the kitchen, a waterfall of sound, of deep rumbles and hitched breathing, of _“_ Please, Louis, baby, _please,”_ of moans and whines and more.

Louis didn’t let him rush, kept his pace, pulled Harry closer and closer to the edge with each smooth slide. Harry was dazed and hot and trembly and so in love it hurt a little and Louis pulled all the way off just as the fire in Harry’s belly burned to a bright new temperature.

“Come on, Harry,” Louis murmured, his voice more ragged than his breathing, his hand working Harry’s dick so he could tear Harry apart with his hoarse words as well. “Let me see you fall apart.”

It was all Harry needed: two more slides of lips against his shaft and he was filling Louis’ mouth, each pulse like a hammer to his nerves, his vision going white and black and back again. The fire ripped through him and burned from his fingertips to his toes, racing along his veins. His throat ached with the force of his shout, though he couldn’t remember the words that fell out.

“So beautiful,” Louis said, scrambling to his feet and kissing Harry’s overwhelmed, slack mouth. “So good for me, darling, so wonderful.”

There was a hot, hard line against Harry’s thigh and he was too dazed to plan anything, but somehow he remembered that hot line was _his,_ his responsibility, and he had to take care of it. He half-slid on weak legs and Louis chuckled, just a little, helping keep him upright.

“Sofa,” Harry murmured, head still spinny and light. Louis stepped on the legs of Harry’s jeans so Harry could leave them on the kitchen floor without stumbling, and then he half-carried Harry to the family room, shoving Harry gently back against the pillows of the largest, comfiest sofa.

Harry settled against the cushions, then made an inarticulate sound and beckoned Louis forward. Louis, still breathing hard, still flushed, still so thick beneath his sweatpants that Harry could see every beat of his pulse as his cock twitched, climbed into Harry’s lap.

“This,” Harry said, mouth too numb for words. He tugged at Louis’ shirt hem. “Off.”

Louis stripped it off, tossed it aside. When Harry prompted, he slid out of his sweatpants too, then his underwear. Finally, Harry had him naked in his lap, skin against sweaty, oversensitive skin.

Harry slid down a little, only his head propped up by the pillows. He grabbed Louis’ bum— _”Jesus,_ Hazza”—and urged him forward, so he was straddling Harry’s chest rather than his waist.

“Fuck my mouth,” Harry murmured, and he watched Louis’ eyes grow darker.

“You’re sure?” Louis checked, though he already had a hand in Harry’s hair, fingers twitching like he almost couldn’t wait. Harry didn’t mind begging, and this was something he needed as much as Louis.

“Please,” he rasped, and so Louis let out a shaky breath and shifted forward a little more.

They didn’t do this often, because Harry’s voice would be gone for hours and it tended to make him and Louis both a little spacey at the end, but today it felt right. Felt _perfect_ —Louis pressed his cock against Harry’s lips and he was already dripping, painfully hard, and then he said “Open” and Harry did, letting him slide partway into Harry’s mouth.

“Oh, god, Haz,” Louis moaned, “you’re amazing, _shit.”_

Louis tasted like hot skin and evergreen soap and the stinging tingle of static electricity, his cock hard and smooth against Harry’s tongue. He pushed in, further, until just a little bit more would cut off Harry’s air.

“Ready?” he asked, voice throaty. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again, meeting Louis’ gaze; he couldn’t nod very hard but he made sure Louis got the point, tonguing at the bottom of his cock to encourage him forward.

Louis gripped Harry’s hair a little harder and held him still as he pushed in the last couple of inches, sliding into Harry’s throat. Immediately, Harry’s vision went fuzzy, that pinch of pain fanning the embers of arousal that still burned from his own orgasm, and they only grew as Louis pulled back and thrusted forward again. The tug on his hair was like a counterpoint, different sensations that kept Harry teetering just on the edge of too much. He was pliant from his orgasm, warm from Louis’ body heat, completely overwhelmed and a little out of it already. He was dizzy from Louis’ attention, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on Harry’s cheek.

Above him, Louis looked like a dream: early afternoon was a good look on him. Sweaty hair was falling in his face, powerful hips punching each thrust forward, his stomach muscles trembling. With Louis’ hand in his hair and his cock keeping Harry pinned back against the pillow, Harry felt, well.

Helpless.

Even more helpless than before. Helpless under the wash of pleasure Louis poured into his veins, helpless in front of the tidal wave of contentedness he got from doing this, from making Louis feel good.

Harry was drunk on the sounds Louis was making and he wanted more, so he pulled out every trick he knew: swirling his tongue around the head of Louis’ cock before he thrusted back in, keeping his mouth wet so the glide stayed smooth, tonguing a corkscrew pattern to keep Louis guessing. Louis needed no urging to get loud, and his moans and curses and praises echoed, embedding themselves in Harry’s head so it was all he could hear. It was a sloppy blowjob at best but that’s what Louis liked and it’s what Harry could manage, fucked out as he was. His mouth and chin were slick and wet, his lips aching a little from the stretch, but every thrust was manna on his tongue.

Louis reached down with his hand not buried in Harry’s curls and put his hand lightly on Harry’s neck. Harry made a happy noise when he realised Louis was feeling his cock as it slid in and out of his throat—he liked that too, liked how it felt. Probably would like how it looked, too; Louis couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of it.

It didn’t take long for Louis’ thrusts to become a little erratic, to get the little hitch that said his orgasm was tingling just on the edge of his awareness, ready to burst. Harry let his mouth go soft, lifted a hand to Louis’ bum and urged him forward once again; Louis worked his hips and pressed further than he’d been before, his cock halfway down Harry’s throat.

“Right there,” Louis was chanting, though he was the one controlling where _there_ was. “Oh, right there, you’re so—ah, _fuck_ —so good, Hazza, darling, love you, love you, _oh, love you_ -”

Harry could feel the build of it, the crest; Louis thrusted three more times and then heat rushed into Harry’s mouth, salty and slick, and Louis was pulling out so he could swallow. He could feel his own lips, swollen by kisses and cock, and knew he had to look a mess, yet Louis still stared down at him like a priceless piece of art had found its way onto their sofa.

He didn’t even realise he was hard again until Louis slid sideways with an _oof,_ his limbs loose and boneless, and got his hand around Harry’s cock. His whole body was light and throbbing with each pulse, and Louis traced the shell of his ear with his mouth as Harry moaned, arching up and covering his stomach with a weak second load of come, the aftershocks rattling through him.

For a moment, they laid there in the silence, just catching their breath. Harry could feel every muscle in his body and they all felt content; next to him, Louis swirled his finger absently around Harry’s hipbone.

“Well,” Louis said a few moments later. He sounded hazy, fucked out and wonderful, and Harry couldn’t help but reach for his hand to curl their fingers together. “I think we can consider day one a success.”

Harry laughed until his ribs ached, Louis giggling along beside him, and they crashed headlong into sleep within minutes.

  


Hours later, after Niall called to warn them he’d be back with the kids within the hour, after quick showers that did nothing to erase the stain of blush and bruise that marred their skin, after they quickly climbed back into clothes that were a little sweaty and a little rumpled from the floor, the doorbell rang and Niall let himself and the kids in. Georgie was once more fast asleep in his stroller, but Izzy bounded up to her dads, chattering on about how Uncle Niall took them to a burger place for lunch, and then to _a park, Daddy, can you believe it?_ And then they watched films and ate popcorn and ice cream but she wasn’t supposed to talk about that.

“Thanks, Iz,” Niall said, completely unrepentant. When he turned toward Harry and Louis, his grin widened. “So. How was _your_ day?”

Louis deferred to Harry, sending him a sly, happy look. Harry tried to answer, but his voice was still mangled from deepthroating Louis so his, “Fine,” came out more like a wheeze than anything else.

Niall laughed himself hoarse to match.


End file.
